The Measure of Importance

Last night was the final day of the Olympic games and I watched the last two races with all the vigor of a bored patron of the arts waiting for the final act to begin. Still, I was amazed that anyone could cross-country snow ski for 30 miles! And how exciting it would have been to beat Canada at their own game – ice hockey.

But the ending was anti-climatic and I wondered this morning, is winning the gold medal really such an important feat? Shouldn’t we be happy to just get the silver? And if we would have won the gold medal, so what? Wouldn’t it end up just hanging on the team members’ bureaus catching dust? Perhaps, but perhaps not.

A pastor friend of mine preached these words in a sermon once: “In God’s eyes you are precious and important, not because of what you have done, but because of who you are.” He taught those words to his confirmation classes for years, and I still hear him repeat them from time to time even though he is retired and in his 80s. They are important words to hear and digest for all of us, for they give us a sense of purpose in life.

So why is it, I wonder, so important for us to feel important? What if the only other person to whom we were actually important was God himself? Would that be enough for us? I have to admit that I would feel very lonely and mostly likely a failure. For if we live a life that is devoid of others – their wants, needs, and desires – we are only living for ourselves. Not exactly what God had in mind for us. He created us to be social creatures.

Well, I know I will never be an Olympic athlete, but that is okay. I want to be the kind of person who treats others as though they are important – little human beings for whom Jesus gave his life. It should not matter whether they have won a gold medal, their last album went platinum, or if they just beat the homerun batting record. What if the importance of our life was instead measured by our humility? How great of a servant we are? It should be enough for us to love people just as they are – a child of God.

That is my mission and the goal for my life, and I want it to be my legacy. When I die, I absolutely do NOT want my obituary to read only that, “She was devoted to her family, and loved her children and grandchildren very much.” I do love my family very, very much, but they are very easy to love. No instead, I also want to be remembered as a person who loved even the least of people. Even the worst of the worst: the Dennis Raders and the Roger and James Bentleys of this world are children of God and need to feel important. Not because of what they have accomplished in life, but because of who they are. Tough to do, but I keep working on it.